


mise en place

by idolatry (bellmare)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Baking, Bonding over food, Friendship, Gen, NaNoWriMo 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9066478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellmare/pseuds/idolatry
Summary: The best time to talk about Deep and Important Matters is clearly at 3am when you're incredibly sleep-deprived. Also, baking.-- Millie, Lysander, and digging into the heart of the matter. Or, at least, one of them.





	

Millie was always a light sleeper -- that is, whenever she ever managed to get to sleep. Old habits were stubborn, stubborn things. She was just dozing off when she heard the front door creaking and the lock scrape back, and someone’s luggage rolling across the floor. She checked the time -- just past one in the morning. Flight was on time, then.

She rolled over onto her back and stretched out, working the knots out of her spine. Bel murmured a little into her hair and turned away, pulling all the blankets with her. Millie reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, then stroked it absently. “Your favourite person is back,” she said softly. “Maybe this time I can talk some sense into him. He's too stubborn.” The irony of what she was saying wasn't lost on her. Millie smiled a little and ran her hand lightly over Bel’s hair one last time. “You're both so bloody stubborn. I don't know how you guys survived without me. The two of you are a lot more similar than people give you credit for.”

No reply was forthcoming, but she didn't expect any. Bel was a notoriously deep sleeper. Millie eased out of bed and tied her hair up, then spent a few further minutes rooting around for something to hold it in place with. It was dark when she left the room, the only light coming from the wall scones along the hall, which had been dimmed. Well, no matter. She knew she'd have company shortly.

Millie turned the kitchen lights on and set about ferreting around in the pantry, trying to decide what to make. It'd been a while since she last went shopping for baking ingredients; she'd have to buy more on the weekend, if her late-night cooking companion was staying around for longer.

Lysander sidled into the kitchen half an hour later, not quite looking where he was going. Millie noted with some amusement that he was wearing the novelty slippers Jae got him on his birthday a few months back -- cute stuffed tigers with large, exaggerated paw prints on the soles.

He froze, one foot in the air, at the sight of her. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

Millie rested her elbows on the kitchen counter and propped her chin on her steepled fingers. “Really, now. You know me better than that. How was the flight?”

Lysander shrugged and threw a stack of newspapers onto the countertop, before sitting heavily on one of the chairs in front of it. “So-so. Some turbulence.”

“Hm.” Millie straightened, then started measuring out some almond meal. “Is that supposed to be a metaphor?”

Lysander snorted. “Hell no.”

“Good.”

“Millie,” he said, leaning across the countertop and grabbing a glass from the draining board. “I fucking hate metaphors.” He filled the glass from the tap and downed it, then filled it again. “Really, now,” he said, echoing her. “You know me better than that.”

She reached across the mixing bowl and patted his hand. “I know. It's just funny to give you a hard time.”

"I really wish you wouldn't,” he grumbled, settling back down and beginning to unfold his newspapers. “I wish you'd grow out of that unfortunate habit. You'd be perfect otherwise.”

“Perfection is overrated.”

“Still. It's been centuries. Don't you have hobbies that are more fun and rewarding than poking me to see what I'll do?”

“What, no. No way. You're too fun not to poke. I see why Jae and HP enjoy it so much.” She started measuring out caster sugar, taking care not to spill any. “Bel and me need to keep you young and on your toes, too. I don't just mean that physically. God knows, you already act like an old and grumpy senior in a retirement village who's mad about the mushy food or being beaten at bridge or whatever. Or yelling at kids to get off your lawn. You're so crotchety sometimes.”

“Did you just call me a crotchety old retiree?” Lysander took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Were the same damn age. How could you.”

“I'm younger than you!”

“Barely. And if you want to play that card, maybe you want to start respecting your elders.”

“See? See? Listen to yourself.”

Lysander groaned. “I was joking.”

Millie widened her eyes in mock astonishment. “What? You can make one of those? Amazing. I knew you could make a mean filet mignon but I didn't know jokes were in your repertoire too.”

“I didn't come here to be slandered in my own house. If I wanted to be trash-talked, I'd have video-called Jae. That bastard,” he growled, a little more loudly. “He hasn't called or texted me about stupid shit for days. I'm worried.”

“That's sweet of you--”

“--worried about what fresh hell he’s brewing up for me.”

“Now, now, don't be so mean. You two should get along.”

“Hmph,” was all Lysander had to say about that. He fell silent, and Millie continued going about measuring out ingredients. She knew he didn't take it that personally -- it was just in his nature to be like that. She also knew this was just lighthearted chatter meant to fill in the space, in place of all the real questions he wanted to ask. Millie thought he could be ridiculous sometimes; that after knowing each other for so long, he'd still want to make some inane small talk before getting to the heart of the matter. So she waited, and Lysander watched as she separated eggs and added in fine, powdery sugar before she set up the mixer.

“Does it ever help you sleep better?” he asked at last.

“Hmm?” And there it was. It took a while for him to get there, but he did eventually. Millie just wasn't entirely sure what route they'd be taking today.

“This.” He gestured vaguely around the kitchen. “The midnight baking.”

“Oh.” Well, he had a circuitous way of getting around to things. Millie turned on the mixer and set it to the lowest speed. “To be honest, it doesn't really help. But I guess I just enjoy it, so that's why I do it when I have nothing better to do, or when I can't sleep. And it makes me happy, too, when Bel tells me she likes waking up to the smell of fresh bread or chocolate muffins or whatever.”

“I guess that's all the reason you really need. Making yourself happy. Or making other people happy.” He folded and unfolded a corner of the newspaper. “It's enough, I guess.”

“Why, are you thinking of becoming my assistant?”

“No, thank you.”

“I think you'll be pretty good at it. It's very precise, you know. Baking involves a lot of science. Lots of chemistry, mostly. Reactions and reagents. You'll like it. You like cooking, and you like science. Why not combine the two?”

The corner of his mouth quirked in the beginnings of a wry smile. “That sounds like a horrible pick-up line. Lots of chemistry involved. Combining two things that don't seem to mix well together.”

Millie laughed, far louder than she intended to. “I think we're way past the formalities of me chatting you up. Now that I think about it, we never even really got to that stage, did we? Just ... fell into things together. Besides, we mix pretty well together, if I say so myself.”

Lysander laughed as well. “After I pushed you into a snowdrift the first time we met. Or was it the other way around?”

“No,” Millie said, smiling at the memory. “That was right. And then I threw a snowball into your face.”

“Ah. How could I forget. You have good aim.”

Millie sighed a little; she felt wistful. “Y’know, I'm not sure about you, but I miss having you around. And you know Bel does, too. That's the only reason why she keeps calling over satellite even though it's stupidly expensive. Why don't you take a break from the overseas trips? Leave it to someone else. I think R&D would be glad to have you back, too. Rui and Sho have been interning there and I think they're driving the rest in the department up the wall. I tell you, they were not-so-secretly dreading the day the internship started. R&D, I mean. Not those two. They're having the time of their lives. They need some, um, firm guidance before they blow something else up.”

Lysander sobered up almost immediately. “I don't know.”

“Le--” She bit back his old name, trying to disguise it as a break in her voice. “Lysander.” Millie turned the mixer off and leaned across the counter. She resisted the urge to grab him by the face, though it was a close one. “You can't run forever. What are you even running away from, anyway? It's high time you acknowledged it.”

“I don't know,” he said again. “Sometimes I feel like I just want to get away from … from, well, Bel.”

Finally, they were beginning to get somewhere. Millie stared at him but he was preoccupied with reading the newspapers. Or maybe pretending to. “Did something happen?

“No.” He flipped a page.

Millie stared at the top of his head. “Oh. Okay. I see now. It's that time of the year, isn't it? We've gone through this before.”

He grunted in response, shoulders hitching up. Millie sighed and pulled away to check on her meringue. She lifted the bowl and upended it over her head. Lysander made a noise that sounded vaguely like disgust. “What are you doing?”

"That's how you check if meringue is done.” Satisfied, Millie put the bowl back down. “Now stop changing the subject, I know you're paying full attention to me. You’re not very good at pretending.”

“I’m very good at pretending.”

Millie blinked. “Fine, I’m not disputing that. But you really have to start listening to me. We’ve gone over this before, and I don’t care what you say but we’re going to go through this again until it sinks in. For someone who knows Bel so well and for so long, you’ve been operating under a fundamental misunderstanding of how you think she thinks.”

She could see Lysander opening his mouth to argue and ploughed on before he could get a word in. “I know what you’re going to say. She’s fickle. She’s a monster. She’s beyond most people’s understanding. And I’m not disputing that. But you are where she abandons all her rules. She doesn’t blame you, you know. Even if you’ve been on a gloomy bender for remarkably long.”

“I have not been on a gloomy bender,” was all Lysander had to say for himself.

“Oh, yeah?” Millie lifted her chin. “Then why have you been finding new and bullshit ways to avoid her and avoid confronting this issue? Ever since Eri? You used to be a lot more fun. A lot more sure of yourself. I understand taking some time to reevaluate and rethink yourself, but over a century? That’s excessive. We need to stage an intervention.”

“I don’t want an intervention.”

“I don’t care what you want. What I care about, on the other hand, is what you need. And you need to stay still long enough to hear this from Bel herself. You need to stop being so hung up over that.”

“Of course I’m still hung up over what happened,” he snarled tersely. “I couldn’t stop Eri.”

Millie resisted the urge to throw her hands up in the air, mostly because she was holding a measuring cup. “None of us could! That’s my point! Bel doesn’t look down on you just because you couldn’t do anything about Eri. You didn’t fail her.”

“I did. It’s been my damn job all our lives to watch my idiot sister’s back -- because god knows she doesn't even know how to do that herself -- and I was doing so well right up until Eri waltzed in under our noses.”

“So what? You’re not infallible. And nobody’s perfect.”

“We’re supposed to be,” Lysander snapped. “That’s what our family _made_ us for. That's why things happened the way they did, because other families didn't want more like us running around. The fact that I failed is an even bigger insult.”

“You and your idiot pride are almost worse than Bel and her idiot self-confidence. It's quite amazing. I don't know where the two of you get such vast reserves from.” Millie rubbed her temples, before remembering her hands were covered in flour. “Okay. Let’s take a deep breath and calm down.”

“I am calm.”

Millie laughed at his face. “No, you’re not. What colour do you like?”

He blinked, mouth open in preparation for another pithy argument. He sat back down. “Blue?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me?”

“... telling you.”

“You’e so predictable. But all right, just for you.” Millie unscrewed the cap from a bottle of food colouring and tipped it into the meringue. “Don’t take it personally. You’re good at some things. Bel is good at others. Eri at more different things. That’s the entire reason why we all worked together so well. We didn’t overlap too much. We all think differently and that shapes how we react to the same things. It’s not that you’re less capable, just that--”

“Just that I should’ve been prepared for any eventuality,” Lysander muttered darkly under his breath. “I let my guard down. I was stupid.”

“No--”

“This would never have happened before you came back. We were different. We didn’t trust anyone. Working together with others softened her. It softened both of us.”

Millie narrowed her eyes. “Are you blaming me now?”

Lysander stared back at her for a very long time, before eventually saying “no”.

Millie shrugged. “I don’t mind too much, you know. It’s a start if you start blaming someone else other than yourself.”

Lysander had nothing to say to that, and just leaned back with his arms stubbornly crossed as Millie folded colouring into the meringue. The droplets of blue stretched lazily into curling streaks, the white of the meringue shot through with cyan. “We’re not having this conversation again.”

“Okay, fine,” Millie agreed. It was a start; perhaps next time she’d work harder on him. “So, how was your trip?

Lysander’s shoulders lowered slightly. He reached up and plucked off his glasses, fiddling with the arms. “Uneventful. Signed some sales contracts. Met Kazimir and then Jae.”

“How’s my brother?”

“Good. Distracted. Thaumaturgists have been poking their noses around the region again. Unaffiliated ones, mostly.”

“Hm. I wish he told me that himself. How was it with Jae? I doubt any trip would stay uneventful for long with him involved.”

Lysander pulled a face. “Well, yes. One of the clients wanted to have some fun after all the negotiation and paperwork was done. Jae ... persuaded them to sample some ... local flavours. And then left me to keep entertaining them. Asshat.”

“Well, then. How did that go?”

He carefully folded the arms of his glasses and set them down, then put his face in his hands. “I think I slept with a Rvatsya.”

“... _no._ ”

“It wasn't my first choice,” he muttered into his palms. “Jae recommended the place, said there were some interesting sorts there, so the others were very much into that. I don't even want to know how he found the place. Or whether he knew there were Rvatsya there, too. If he set me up, I’m going to go to his place first thing in the morning and strangle him.”

Millie stared at the top of his head, wondering whether to laugh or cry or perhaps take him by the shoulders and shake him. “The fact that you’re talking about it not being your _first choice_ makes you just as bad as him. You could have excused yourself and left them there. What was your first choice, anyway?”

“Millie, please, you know exactly what I meant.”

“I don’t know, do I?” She started sifting almond meal, icing sugar, and salt into a bowl. “Did you at least, ah, exercise discretion?”

“ _Millie,_  please.”

“What? I’m concerned. Mostly on behalf of Bel. And also I think this is more unhealthy coping mechanisms you developed to avoid confronting your issues. Look, I know you guys like it rough and, um, open-ended, but there are better ways to communicate your frustrations with each other than this. Don’t think I haven’t seen the scratches. What part of that is fun? It just looks painful.” Millie decided not to comment on the self-conscious way Lysander rubbed his left shoulder; she could see the faint scar peeking out from underneath the hem of his sleeve. “If you two just talked about it, you’d be a lot happier.”

“I thought you said we aren’t talking about this.”

“Fine, fine. How did you know this was a Rvatsya?”

“Gut feeling.”

“You do realise they may have sensed you too. Rvatsya are very keenly attuned to magic, you know. Even with presence concealments. It’s a two-way street.” Millie picked up a spatula and began to fold the almond meal mixture into her meringue. “Maybe the Bureau should think about paying their contractors more, if they need to resort to, um, side jobs.”

“I have a feeling it’s more of an enjoyment thing,” Lysander said slowly. “Or a hobby to kill time. Especialy when you can live that long. It’s just like how we now make the juniors go through some form of further education. It’s about time they learnt there's more to life than just being good at waving a sword around. Like where best to poke that sword, and what you gain from damaging whatever's in that area. That's why biology is handy.”

“What about economics?”

“... you have two swords. Where should you invest in planting your swords to maximise returns? Do you need to use both, or will one suffice? Then, you have to define your returns. Do you want your enemy dead, or just to loosen their tongue a little? See, economics.”

“Oh, HP was wrong. You _do_ have a sense of humour after all.”

Lysander didn’t quite smile, but it was a very close thing. “Yeah, I'm a regular Renaissance man. Besides, everyone needs a hobby, I guess. For Rui, it's synthesising compounds he shouldn't be synthesising. For that Rvatsya, it's ... well, I don't know. Getting worldly knowledge?”

“Is that a polite way of saying ‘sleeping around’?” Millie started filling a piping bag. "Kids these days use some pretty weird slang. I guess going out on deadly missions and writing reports in your downtime can be pretty dull and isn't exactly conducive to personal growth or your emotional and mental health."

Lysander cleared his throat. “Speaking of health and downtime. How's Bel been?”

“Hmm.” Millie chewed over her words, picking them carefully. “Been good, I guess. The same.” She started piping out circles onto a baking sheet. “I’m not sure. She hasn’t been too forthcoming lately.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, on the whole she's sort of the same as always. Goes to work, dumps paperwork on Jae, attends meetings, negotiates on the phone while complaining about it to me in messages, gets sloshed every Friday night with the rest of us ... the usual.” Millie finished filling out the sheet, and set the piping bag down. She lifted the tray and rapped  it sharply against the countertop. ‘But she's also been having a harder time staying awake and sometimes disappears through the day. If anything, I think she's been more evasive than she normally is.”

“Her Sword--”

“Haven't seen it for a long time. Not since the last congregation, I think. Even then, she only showed it for a moment.”

“How did it look?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “You were there, Lysander.”

“I wasn't looking at her Sword, I was looking at everyone else.”

“Fair enough.” Millie set aside the first tray and moved the second closer to her. “Frankly, I'm stuck between worrying and just letting her continue doing what she wants. How did she sound when you spoke to her?”

Lysander snorted. “Like she always does. You know how she is on the phone.”

“Mm, yes, that I do. I bet that call will cost a fortune, too.”

“That hasn't stopped her, and you know it never will.” He shifted in his seat, stretching out his back. "I guess I'll talk to her in the morning, though I'll probably have as much success as you did, if not less.”

“That's because she doesn't want you to worry.”

“Very funny. It's a little too late for her to suddenly be so considerate. I've spent, what, almost my entire life having to look over _my_ shoulder for anyone _she_ might have pissed off. I'd get even more worried if she told me not to worry. Don't laugh,” he added when he caught sight of Millie’s grin. “You were just as bad. The two of you made me lose years of my life.”

Millie frowned. “What? But I’m not that bad now.”

“God. Between the two of you, I could never catch a break. Actually, that’s still true, even today. What're you making?”

“You wait until I'm almost done to ask me? I hope that's a rhetorical question.”

“I’m tired,” Lysander said, a little defensively.

“So am I,” Millie pointed out. “I’m the one making macarons at two in the morning.” She set the second tray aside. “Why, have you got better ideas?”

“No.”

“Good, because I’m seriously reconsidering my generosity in making you something nice. If you’re so tired, why’re you still awake?”

“Jet lag,” he said, resting his chin on his knuckles. “Plane ride was shit, and I didn’t sleep well the entire trip.”

“I thought you were taking medication.” Millie ducked out of the pantry with several bars of cooking chocolate, and proceeded to whack them against the countertop before emptying the contents into another bowl. “Try melatonin suppressants, maybe. I heard they help with the jet lag. Or you could take your meds again, you know.”

“I stopped. Made me worse than Bel. I almost fell asleep during a lunch meeting. I know I wanted to find out what it’s like in her weird mind, but not like this. Good thing she sleeps like the dead once she’s dropped off,” he added drily. “What with the percussion symphony you’ve got going on there.”

“... and here I was thinking all that distance would help in making you less snide. Nice to see your long stints away haven't helped your outlook any,” Millie replied. She turned the stove on and set a pot with cream onto the burner. “I can now see why HP called you a margarita.”

“A what?”

She smirked. “Nothing.”

“I'm glad to see things here don't change whilst I'm away, either. Everyone still insults me behind my back or while pretending I can’t hear them. Everyone, meaning Jae.” Lysander watched as she poured the boiling cream into the chocolate and stirred the melting mixture. “When was the last time you did this?”

“Did what?”

“Baked things at ungodly hours.”

“Oh. A while, I guess. I think I made a pavlova the last time. Must've been ... the last time you were around.”

“Why don't you bake when I'm not around?”

“Because you’re good company, when you stop being dour long enough to crack some jokes.” Millie held out the mixing spoon. “And I’ve missed our midnight deep-and-meaningful kitchen chats, even if it’s like talking to a brick wall sometimes. Tell me if you like this or not, I can adjust the flavour.”

Lysander took the spoon. “It’s fine.”

“Sweet enough? Or rather, bitter enough?”

“Just right.”

“Good. Well, most of the time I just read if I don’t feel like making anything. What do you normally do if you can’t sleep?”

Lysander snorted as he slid off the chair and made his way to the sink. “I count sheep,” he said, deadpan. “Or drink. Pass your stuff here, I’ll wash up. Then we can go to sleep sooner.”

“Ooh. Sure, we can have a drink or two, I guess! Since you’re back and I miss your grumpy face.”

She poured out whiskey while he was busy washing up, then handed him his glass once he dried his hands. He stared down at the glass, then back up at her. “What exactly are we toasting to?”

“I don’t know. To you being back and Bel hogging someone else’s blankets? To the hope that the macarons don’t come out looking and feeling like little flat sugary rocks?”

“If that’s the case, you can keep her for a few more days. Wrestle her for your pillow.”

“She uses me as a pillow,” Millie said, a little mournfully.

Lysander ignored her. “You’re a good enough baker that I highly doubt your macarons will fail spectacularly.”

“You’re so picky! Fine, what’re we supposed to toast to?”

“Love and friendship,” Lysander said with a completely straight face. He clanged his glass against hers and downed its contents in one go. “Or just a good nightcap.”

“That works too. It’s actually kinda sweet of you.” Millie refilled both their glasses. “Cheers.”

* * *

Several glasses of whiskey later, the macarons were still resting on the countertop and Lysander had liberated several old newspaper issues from the recycling pile in an attempt to read them. It was only on his third or fourth attempt on going through a particular segment that he realised the words were swimming in and out of focus, the sentences blurring into each other. Millie had curled up on the couch, watching TV ads with the volume muted. The TV screen lent a bluish cast to the room and to her face. Onscreen, a man was extolling the virtues of some novelty cleaning equipment.

“Do you think anyone ever really buys there?” Millie asked.

Lysander blinked himself awake to find his glasses squashed against one side of his face, the bridge digging between his eyes. His neck hurt. “Buy what.”

“Whatever these ads try to sell. Generic ones would be cheaper.”

“Uh,” he said, not very articulately. He reached for his glass, only to belatedly remember he’d emptied its contents a while ago. He and Millie had finished the bottle half an hour earlier, no longer bothering with cups or dilution. They passed the bottle back and forth between them, drinking while they made idle small-talk that was blessedly less uncomfortable than what they’d started the night with. “Hey, how long do these have to wait before you put them in the oven?”

“Um.” Millie turned her head slightly, propping her head on the arm of the couch. The ends of her hair,unraveling from her bun, spilt over the edge of the armrest. “Put them in now and set the timer. Twenty minutes to start.”

“Right.”

Millie flipped idly through channels as he slid both trays into the oven. "Pity there's nothing good on now," she said, before settling on a twenty-four hour radio station and turning on the volume. Something light and jazzy and vaguely muzak-sounding hummed through the speakers, barely loud enough for Lysander to hear. The upholstery rustled, telling him that Millie rolled over. He glanced over at her. She was lying flat on her back, fingers laced on her stomach as she stared at the ceiling, eyes glazing over from the music.

“I hope I never have to see you posed like that in any other context.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You look like you're about to be put into a coffin.”

She shut her eyes. “Wow. No wonder nobody ever asks you out for second dates, if that's the kinda stuff you start saying. It's a wonder Lin stuck with you for so long, but I guess you're both the kinds to compare sleeping people to those on their deathbeds. Ming’s right. You’re easy enough on the eyes, but you really need to work on your, hm, appeal.”

Lysander walked over to the couch -- though not before almost tripping over the ottoman. Millie looked amused, then confused when he stuck out his hand. She stared first at his hand, then up at him. “Huh?”

“Let’s dance.”

A bemused smile slid up the corner of her face. “Well, this is unexpected. What’s the occasion?”

“You said I needed to work on my, hm, appeal. I’m better with actions than with words.” He paused, squinting down at his hands and waggling his fingers. “And I feel like I had too much to drink.”

“I’m very flattered you take me seriously enough to want to work on your, hm, appeal.” Millie took his hand and let him pull her upright.

“Anything for you, field marshal.”

She guided his right hand to her back. “I don't think we've danced a lot before.”

“No,” he agreed, leading her through the first few steps of a basic foxtrot. “I guess we usually both end up with Bel at some point.”

“We make a pretty handsome team,” Millie observed. Lysander followed her line of sight, towards their reflection in the bay windows. “Why didn't we ever become a couple, hmm? Isn't there some sort of law that dictates this, that the childhood friends of opposite genders must lust for each other at some point?”

Lysander didn’t choke, but he felt like it was a very close one. He disguised it as a cough, steering them away from the coffee table before either of them banged their shins against it. Their coordination had gone downhill after a bottle of whiskey. “Don’t say things like that. You know we both bark confusedly up different trees. Besides, you’re forgetting someone. A very important someone.”

“Ah, yes.” Millie tipped her head back, eyes sliding shut. “She never liked to share. Sometimes, I’m amazed we even managed to work something out.”

“My sister,” Lysander said stiffly as he tried to keep time with the unfitting music, “is a very selfish woman. What she wants, she gets. That’s always been her way.”

“You always gave whatever you had to give, though. Freely, I might add.”

“I didn’t know any better. I never considered there'd be other options.”

“But now that you do know better, and now that you know there are other options. Will you change anything?”

Lysander maneuvered them through a turn. “No.”

“I think,” Millie said, a little indistinctly, “she knows how lucky she is. Selfish or not.”

“Hm.”

“Hmmm,” Millie echoed. “Too bad HP's usually busy sitting around stuffing his face whenever we have any functions on.” Millie took the lead, moving into a promenade. With some difficulty, they navigated through an underarm turn.

“HP's pretty good when he puts his mind to it,” Lysander said and tried to rub his forehead.

Millie smiled a little hazily. "Sometimes, I think he wants to go on one of those dancing shows on TV, the way he sails around like that. You’d think he’d much rather be a reality TV dancing star than a general”

“Yes.” Lysander hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “He's ... got very long strides.”

He decided to keep his mouth shut, after that. The muzak looped again, blending into another track. Millie led him into a waltz, so slow they were barely moving. After a while they came to a standstill, some jaunty flamenco tune playing in the background before it faded to static. Lysander rested his chin on top of Millie's head. She reached up to pat him on the shoulder, and let him stay there for a while.

* * *

The macarons turned out well enough, just like Millie knew they would. She placed the shells on a cooling rack and retrieved her ganache while Lysander ended up shuffling to the couch and toppling face-first onto the cushions after the oven went off.

“Are you tired?”

“Yes,” he said, voice muffled against the upholstery. “I don’t think I can get back up.”

“Well, about time you went to bed. It’s four. Day’s still young.”

“I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Whatever, curmudgeonly retiree.”

“I feel like I ought to be outraged, but I’m also too tired to care,” Lysander said, still face-down on the couch. “But I’m ready to crash. Might head into R&D tomorrow. Later. Whatever. Need to do maintenance and maybe do some recalibrations, my arm’s being acting up. How’s Sho with his leg?”

“Ah.” Millie filled a piping bag with ganache. “Not too badly, though I think he's having issues with the peripheral implants. Or perhaps it's connectivity problems; I'm not too sure. He's still using his cane and hobbling around like, well, Jae.”

“Unlike Sho, there's nothing wrong with Jae's leg,” Lysander growled under his breath and got to his feet. “But fine, I'll look into it.”

“Good. He'll appreciate some help. He’s in tomorrow, I think he’s got some thesis or whatever he’s working on and he goes into the lab quite often. He’ll be thrilled to see you.” Millie coughed meaningfully, though it seemed to be lost on Lysander. She assembled one macaron and held it out for him to take. “First one’s all yours, since you were such good company. Well, the rest are technically for you too, but we’ll see how many are left by the time Bel wakes up.”

“Thanks. Hmm, as good as ever. Maybe you should hide some from Bel.” He tucked some of the more recent newspapers under his arm. “Or I could just get up earlier and fight off the competition.”

Millie snorted loudly. “You will not.”

Lysander smiled a little. “I guess so. Don’t sleep too late. I worry about you too.”

“You’re a lot nicer than most people give you credit for.”

At that, he pulled a face. “Don’t go around spreading tales of my niceness. Jae must never know.”


End file.
